Ravelled

why are there any doubts,
the skies hold
pregnant promise
fields of waving corn,
Must they become
killing grounds of dreams
or will they stand and bend
sway and hold,
safe in their embrace

As mothers hold their Own
and ones Their Ones

who is the holder
who the shielder,
Should the Moon
shine down on the pallored night

Nay it was
as He made it
a pilloried form
Ravished and taken,
What had I said?

Multitudinous specks
In Gods eyes,
again and again,
the refrain.
washed shells of white ,
pristine in their azure beauty
Handled in fragile cells
gated and shuttered
Make Me in that visage
Hold on
the tears, the rends

who Fixes,
He promised no marks
well not permanent anyway,
ravel them together
as His were once
and will again.